


Cafuné

by archangelwithashotgun



Series: Tumblr Prompts [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, Hair stroking, Happy Ending, Language, M/M, Pre-Slash, Tumblr Prompt, cafuné, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 16:51:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6574258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archangelwithashotgun/pseuds/archangelwithashotgun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cafuné (Brazillian Portuguese): the act of tenderly running one’s fingers through someone’s hair.</p>
<p>The first time Sam truly took note of it, he was probably six years old.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cafuné

The first time Sam truly took note of it, he was probably six years old.

It was the night after, as he knows now, the Shtriga came for him. All he had known was that one moment he was sleeping soundly, and the next he had been startled awake, John clutching his tiny form close to his chest and yelling something at Dean that his drowsy mind couldn’t comprehend. He spent the next few minutes cradled close to John’s chest, his father murmuring soothing words into his hair, and it wasn’t long before Sam began nodding off again.

He could feel the tightness of John’s embrace lessen around his form, and he could feel John lowering him back down onto the bed, and the motel bed’s warm blanket being lifted up to cover him.

And then, for the first time, he felt it.

Fingers stroking through his hair, rubbing comfortingly against his scalp.

It happened over and over again throughout the years, and it usually occurred when Sam was under more distress than usual. Every single time without fail, he felt that much needed contact, those fingers running through his hair, whenever a hunt went wrong, whenever he was badly hurt, or whenever he jolted awake from a terrifying nightmare.

Sam didn’t think much of it at first; he just chalked it off to it either being John or Dean trying to calm him down, comforting him in their own discreet way without appearing openly affectionate (in the case of John) or overly affectionate (in the case of Dean).

But then came the night he left for Stanford. The night he and his father had that huge and horrible fight, trading nasty words and low blows. The night Sam desperately fought to be separated from this life, the hunting life he never wanted to begin with but was born into. The night that ended with John screaming at his son, “You walk out that door, don’t you _ever_ come back!”

Sam didn’t sleep at all during the trip to Stanford University. He kept himself moving from the moment he passed through the threshold to the moment he collapsed on his dormitory bed, freshly registered and signed in and enrolled. Heart heavy, stubborn unfallen tears clinging to his lashes, Sam closed his eyes.

It happened right on the cusp of sleep, right when it was within his grasp.

Those wonderful fingers stroking through his hair.

Sam gasped, flinching himself back into full awareness, and instantly the touch was gone.

_That_ , more than his father screaming those final words at him, more than Dean’s tearful and betrayed stare, more than the longing for a home and a mother that he practically never had, more than _anything_ , was enough for Sam to press the heels of his hands deeply into his eyes and finally break down.

He could feel an echo of the touch come back, and leaned into it in whatever way he could.

::

It continued to happen, but much more frequently than before, now that Sam had become aware of the fact that it wasn’t his brother or father or even a _visible_ being doing this. Sam kept it to himself, never once mentioning it to Dean; this was private, something all his own, and he didn’t want to run the risk of Dean even attempting to convince him to find the source and get rid of it.

After Jess burned on the ceiling, after John died, after Dean sold his soul, the fingers were there, running through his hair slowly and soothingly. Every single time Sam needed it, desired the contact he had grown to love, they were there.

Then came the Mystery Spot, where Sam was forced to watch Dean die over and over and over again on a Tuesday with a different, much more creative death each time. The fingers were more persistent, as if massaging Sam’s mind to alleviate the waves of pain he experienced after seeing his brother die so many times. And then that godawful Wednesday happened and… The fingers running through his hair were the only reason Sam didn’t just lay down and try to end it all.

Finding out he was Lucifer’s vessel from the angels was damaging, and meeting Lucifer for the first time and being told so was destructive. He could practically feel his heart and soul shredding to bits, bleeding and worthless, because that’s all he was right? The Boy King, the man with the demon blood, the abomination, and now Lucifer’s vessel.

That night was the first time he felt an entire _hand_ cupping against his forehead, brushing back the fringe, fingers rubbing at his scalp.

::

When they met Gabriel for the first time, uncovering the archangel behind the Trickster, Sam didn’t think anything else of it. Gabriel made his intentions with the Apocalypse perfectly clear, and Sam could understand to a point where he was coming from. But he was still the Trickster that repeatedly killed Dean to prove a point, the archangel that refused to help, and Sam couldn’t help but feel bitter and disdain towards him.

Until Elysian Fields.

“Guys… Get her out of here.”

Sam emerged from where he and Dean were crouched behind one of the tables to avoid the firefight, and slowly crept behind Gabriel with Dean to lead Kali out of the lobby. He kept his eyes on Gabriel, and for the first time since discovering who he was, Sam felt something new toward the ex-Trickster.

Fear.

Despite the fact that Gabriel was an archangel, armed with a blade that could kill Lucifer, he just looked so _small_. Sam feared for him, feared for his safety and survival as he squared off against Lucifer, and Sam paused.

Right at that moment, Gabriel turned around and met his stare.

And Sam gasped, tears biting at the back of his eyes and heart throbbing ferociously in his chest. Because at that moment, Gabriel smiled…

And the sensation of fingers swept through Sam’s hair in one single stroke.

“Sam,” Dean snapped lowly. “Sam, c’mon, what are you waiting for?”

Conflicted, confused, distraught, Sam couldn’t do think to do anything else except follow his brother from the room, holding onto Gabriel’s stare until he couldn’t anymore, and they left Gabriel to face his brother.

Sam’s mind was racing a million miles per minute as they climbed into the Impala, Dean peeling out of the lot as fast as he could, and driving fast until Elysian Fields Hotel was no longer visible in the rearview mirror.

It was Gabriel. It had been Gabriel all along.

That mantra was the only thing that clearly registered in Sam’s brain, and he clung on to it, because everything else didn’t make sense. Nothing about this made sense. So he repeated that sure phrase, that notion of certainty. _It was Gabriel. This whole time, it was Gabriel._

After Kali released them from the blood spell and fled the scene, Dean checked them into the crummiest motel room he could find for one night. Sam followed him inside on autopilot, hauling his duffle, still trying to make sense of this entire night, of all the events leading up to this revelation.

_It was Gabriel._

“It’s no free chocolates on pillows, but…” Dean shrugged, dumping his bag on the stained floor near his bed.

Sam just shook his head, waving off any belief Dean may have that he would complain. Dean shrugged again, and flopped face-first onto the squeaky mattress, appearing to have fallen asleep the moment his body met the bed. Sam took the time to change out of his clothes, undressing down to his boxers and slipping on a simple white tee.

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing the inner corners of his eyes. He forced the mantra out of his head of the time being; this had been a long night, and there would be time for answers tomorrow. So Sam slid under the covers of his bed, laid his head on the pillow, and closed his eyes.

Moments later, his eyes flew open.

The fingers were gone. The fingers were _gone_.

But then that meant Gabriel…

And his fingers—

So _Gabriel_ was—

Sam slapped a hand over his mouth, barely stopping the bewildered wail from punching past his lips.

Oh my God _. Oh my God_.

Sam wept silently, shaking, his heart pulsing grief and sorrow, body numb with longing for the fingers that had comforted him in moments like this, and for the archangel connected to them.

::

Years passed.

It took him a long time, but Sam learned to sleep without the aid of the fingers – Gabriel’s fingers – stroking through his hair. He longed for them, _yearned_ for them, but he learned.

The almost-Apocalypse happened, his time in Hell came and went, the Leviathans were defeated, the trials were incomplete, the angels fell… All of this happened in Gabriel’s absence. And Sam did his part; he hunted, he protected, he fought, and he loved.

 He was tired.

Sam sighed deeply, lowering himself onto his bed in the Bunker. His muscles ached, his mind was exhausted, and he just wanted to sink into his mattress and sleep. Slipping under his covers, Sam cradled the pillow close to him, shifting every so often to get into a more comfortable position. Moments later, he felt his heart rate decrease, his breathing start to even out, and the promise of unconsciousness creeping into his mind. He was almost asleep…

Fingers ran through his hair.

Instantly, Sam wrenched his eyes open, heart going into overdrive, and he gasped.

Gabriel’s lips quirked up into a tiny smirk. “Hi.”

He was dreaming. He _had_ to be dreaming. Oh, this was so not funny. He had to be dreaming. This had to be a fucking joke his brain was playing on him.

“You’re not dreaming, Sam. And this isn’t a joke. I’m here.”

Sam sat up slowly, wide eyes still trained on the expectant archangel sitting on his bed. Chest heaving with pants, Sam’s hand twitched before he reached out, hesitantly inquiring if it was okay.

Gabriel merely raised a brow.

So Sam laid his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder, his _warm_ shoulder, and gripped it tight as a large huff of air escaped him. “ _Gabriel_?” he breathed.

“Hey, Sammy. Miss me?”

Sam paused.

And promptly shoved Gabriel off the bed.

“Oomph!” Gabriel grunted, landing on his back with an elongated groan. Sam lifted himself onto his knees, his wide eyes narrowing into a fierce glare, watching as the angel picked himself off the ground and turned scandalized eyes toward him. “The hell? That’s how you greet an old friend?”

“Where were you?”

Gabriel frowned. “ _What_?”

“Where were you?” Sam repeated with a growl. “You’re clearly here and not dead, which means Lucifer didn’t kill you. Which means you’ve been alive this _whole_ time, and you didn’t even let us know. So much _shit_ has happened, Gabriel, shit we _really_ needed help with, that _I_ really needed help with, and it’s been nearly _five years_! So _where were you_?!”

Gabriel lifted his hands in a calming manner, dropping his previous scowl as he met Sam’s burning gaze with a stoic one. “Sam… I _was_ dead. Lucifer _did_ kill me.”

Instantly, the fury stirring inside Sam evaporated at this revelation, leaving him empty and breathless. “Then… how—?”

“I don’t know,” Gabriel said, and Sam pinched his brows together, because it sure _sounded_ like Gabriel was telling the truth. “Sam, I promise. One moment, there was nothing. I was just… nowhere. And then, I was back, and I have no idea _why_ or _how_. Okay?”

Sam took in a few deep breaths, keeping his eyes focused on Gabriel. “… Okay. Okay.”

Gabriel nodded. “Okay.”

There was a still silence for a long moment, only broken by Sam’s ragged breathing. They stared at one another, unblinking, and Sam saw Gabriel’s firm demeanor change quite suddenly. The archangel actually looked concerned.

“Sam?” Gabriel whispered, stepping forward. Sam flinched back despite the clear distance between them, and though Gabriel frowned lightly, he didn’t stop in his approach. “Sam – Sam, are you okay?”

And Sam just couldn’t keep it in anymore.

“It was you,” Sam muttered, observing Gabriel’s expression. Confusion was first, followed by recognition, then mournful understanding. Sam continued on, not giving Gabriel a chance to speak. “This whole time… It was you. You were the one that would comfort me, ever since I was little. You did that when I needed it. You provided me with security when my dad and Dean weren’t there. It was you.”

“Sam…”

“But what I don’t understand,” Sam said, feeling his throat tighten, and hearing his words come out more thick than before. He was losing the battle to his emotions, and fast. “What I don’t _understand_ is if it was _you_ , why you went and pulled that shit at Mystery Spot anyway.”

Gabriel’s face fell. “Sam—“

“And then you _comforted_ me afterward,” Sam keened, feeling a tear slip down his cheek involuntarily. “I just… I don’t fucking _get_ you! You _traumatized_ me, Gabriel. All I wanted was my brother back, and your hand in my hair. But it was _you_! You _tortured_ me!”

“Sam, listen to me, I’m so sorry—“

“How could you do that?” Sam’s voice dropped dramatically to a whisper, the tears falling down his face undeterred. Small cracks were forming in his words, paving the way for a bigger explosion, and Sam just didn’t feel like stopping it from happening. “You just… And then you… How could you _do_ that?”

Gabriel was on the bed now, right in front of him, his golden eyes sparkling with sorrow and unspoken apologies as he stared at the broken man before him. Gabriel reached out, quickly pulling Sam into an embrace before Sam had a chance to fight it. Once his chest collided with Gabriel’s, arms wrapped securely around a quivering back, the battle was lost; Sam pressed his face into Gabriel’s neck, sobbing out age-long lamentations, body trembling from five years’ worth of unresolved fears and distress because Gabriel had been gone, and he could finally just let go. His hands clung onto the back of Gabriel’s jacket, fingernails digging in and arms squeezing Gabriel past the point of pain had Gabriel been human.

But the archangel just held him back, lips to Sam’s ear, murmuring one phrase over and over like a sacred prayer.

“I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry…”

Past his tears, past his horrid agony and relief toward the entity in his arms, past the truth vibrating in his ear, Sam sobbed even louder at the feel of Gabriel’s fingers, _warm_ and _real_ and _there_ , running through his hair. Providing safety, offering security, and giving comfort. Like they had always done before, and hopefully how they’ll always be in the future.

For the first time in years, nestled in Gabriel’s arms, his hand cradled in Sam’s hair where it belonged, Sam sank into an easy sleep.


End file.
